


Stiles Has a TYPE

by Spoodlemonkey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brief Stiles/OMC, College AU, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, before Stiles hightails it, everyone still knows each other, for like 3 paragraphs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: He needs to stop listening to his dick.





	Stiles Has a TYPE

**Author's Note:**

> This is like the...fourth time I've written these guys so...let me know what you think!

Stiles has terrible taste in people.

His decade long crush on Lydia Martin probably should have cemented that. She was gorgeous, smart, and 100% uninterested in anything Stiles had to offer. If anything though, Lydia was probably the best of the bunch, followed by a string of short relationships with an alcoholic, a compulsive liar, a guy who was dating him to get close to _Isaac_ , not to mention his unrequited crush on probably the most emotionally unavailable man he knew. 

He needed to start listening to Scott. Scott seemed to be having more luck with relationships, first Allison, then Kira, then Allison again. Well, maybe two wasn’t a _winning_ record.

But he'd _told_ Stiles this was a bad idea.

He needed to start listening.

"Of course I'm only taking the course for a credit. I don't really believe any of the bullshit the Prof is throwing at us." 

He needs to stop listening to his dick.

All it does is get him into these situations. 

Joey has them seated on his bed, expensive bottle of tequila open between them and a quarter gone and the sun is still up.

 Stiles is _starving._

He'd naively thought that when he'd been asked out on a date they'd actually be going _out._  

He's not opposed to hookups; he'd just like to know ahead of time so he can make sure he _eats first._

And Joey is gorgeous- broad shoulders, hazel eyes, dark hair...he's developing a type.

Shit.

Somehow he'd missed how Joey was also a bit of a jackass.

"I can't believe my dad is paying for me to take this crap." He laughs and Stiles reaches for the tequila. It hits him a little harder on an empty stomach.

Joey's hand lands high up on his thigh, squeezes and despite himself Stiles is a little interested.

"You're solid." Stiles blinks. "Did you play sports? You can't tell looking at you but there are muscles under all your clothes aren't there?"

Joey _leers_.

And he's lost interest again. 

"I played some ball back in school. Team captain actually, won my team the championship _twice_." Joey stands abruptly, heading for his closet. "Have my yearbook in here somewhere. Maybe a trophy."

Fuck this.

He waits till Joey is distracted searching in the closet grabs the bottle and slips out the door.

He deserves the tequila at this point.

His own dorm is a good ten minute walk away and any moment Joey is going to look up and realize Stiles has hightailed it with the good booze. He’s faced with a long empty corridor and the option to hide in the bathroom till Joey gives up or find somewhere more entertaining to hide.

The bonus of having a crush border on stalker levels: he has a better place to hide.

Derek looks surprised to see him when he opens the door a few minutes later. One floor up from Joeys but it feels like an entire world.

“Hey,” Derek peers at him from behind his thick, black rimmed glasses. He’s clearly been studying, wearing sweats the look soft to the touch and an old faded Beacon Hills tee that does nothing to hide the bulge of his biceps.

“Hide me.” Stiles shoves the tequila bottle at him as a distraction and slips under his arm before he can refuse him entry.

A door opens down the hall and Derek snorts, closing the door to his room and flicking the lock.

“You wanna tell me why Joey McClane is looking for you?”

Stiles makes himself comfortable on the neatly made bed. Text books have been left open on the desk along the right wall, but the TV is on across from it, muted on _Cars_ so Derek can’t have been getting much work done.

“He thought he could get into my pants with a bottle of tequila.” Stiles scoffs though he does make grabby hands for the bottle. Derek frowns and moves the bottle out of reach, setting it on his bookshelf by the door. Stiles could just get up and get it but he’s feeling lazy, comfortable, and pleased in a slightly twisted way to be sitting on Derek’s _bed_.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Derek is radiating disproval as he sits himself at the desk, consequently as far from Stiles as he can be in the small room. Stiles tries not to notice.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.” He presses back against the wall, watches Derek from under his lashes. “Besides, after half an hour of _that_ I need something strong.”

“He is a dick.” Derek agrees, crossing his arms across his chest and momentarily frying Stiles brain. Maybe he has had a little too much. “I can’t believe you agreed to go out with him in the first place.”

“He’s hot. And if I had known he was _that_ much of a dick…” No he’d probably still have said yes. That sounds desperate even to his ears, so he keeps quiet. His stomach helpfully chimes in.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“ _Forever ago_.” He pulls his knees up, resting his arms on them. “Feed me derbear?”

“I don’t have any food here. And get your feet off my bed.”

He figures its progress for them that Derek doesn’t kill him for the pet name.

“Take me out for food then?” He bats his eyes; there’s a good chance Derek is going to kick him out for his antics so he’s going all in.

“Why, so I can pay? Go find Scott.” He turns around, dragging the closest text book to him.

Stiles huffs.

“Scott’s out with Allison tonight.” He grabs one of the pillows at the head of the bed and throws it. It’s with great satisfaction that he watches it bounce off the back of Derek’s head and onto the floor.

That is until Derek turns his glare on him.

Then he can’t stop laughing.

Derek fixes his glasses from where they were knocked askew but there’s no hiding the long pen mark across his cheek from where he’d been holding it too close to his face.

“You’re an asshole.” Derek mutters, tossing the pen down. But he gives Stiles his attention again so he counts it as a win.

“Your asshole.” Stiles winks just to see if Derek manages to hurt himself this time with how hard he’s rolling his eyes.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be? Stalking Lydia maybe?”

It doesn’t sting like it might have once. Stiles takes it as a sign that maybe he is growing up.

“You’re less likely to kill me if I stalk you.”

Or not.

Derek furrows his brows; it’s a cute look, the way his lower lip protrudes in a pout when he’s thinking. Stiles wonders what he’s thinking about, probably the easiest way to get rid of him.  

“If I order us food will you let me study?” Derek finally sighs, grabbing his phone from his desk. “Chinese?”

“Get an extra order of spring rolls!” He toes his shoes off, kicks them off the bed. Pauses, guilt creeping up on him suddenly. “Do you actually need to study? I can go if it’s that important.”

Derek ducks his head, focuses intently on his phone saying,

“All that and _now_ you’ll leave me alone?” He glances over and continues quickly. “It’s fine. I think I’m done for the day.”

Stiles brightens, settles in more comfortably and pats the bed next to him.

“Get over here big guy; let’s see what other movies you’ve got.”

If Derek is hesitant to join him on the bed they both ignore it. Stiles makes a big show of getting comfortable, stealing the remaining pillow to shove behind his back as Derek pulls up Netflix. They settle, a careful distance between them and spend the next twenty minutes bickering over what to watch, only interrupted when the food arrives.

Derek goes downstairs to grab their food and when they settle back on the bed, containers spread out around them and movie selected, the space between them has shrunk to nothing. Stiles spends the next hour hyper aware of the hard line of Derek’s body, the heat coming off him. He shucks his over shirt, tugs his t-shirt back down from where it was riding up and _swears_ he catches Derek looking.

Eventually the tequila bottle makes its way back over to the bed and they pass it back and forth as the room grows darker, lit up by the small television screen. Stiles finds himself slumped sideways, cheek pressed against Derek’s chest, Derek’s arm thrown loosely over his shoulders. It’s the closest they’ve ever been, he’s certain, the longest they’ve spent time in just each other’s company. He soaks it up greedily knowing it won’t last forever.

He’s never believed in the _accidentally fell asleep_ trope, not in movies, or books, and _definitely_ not when Scott came in covered in hickeys. But somehow it happens, and he wakes up, disoriented but incredibly comfortable.

It takes him a minute to place where he is, the low throbbing in his head making him panic. What if he is back at Joeys? What if he dreamt Derek?

“I can hear you thinking from here.”

He relaxes immediately. Turns out his line of sight is Derek’s chest, but if he tilts his head up he can find the rest of him. In the early morning light Derek’s eyes are a kaleidoscope of colours and he can’t understand how he ever thought Joeys were anywhere _near_ them.

“Comfortable?” Derek clears his throat, expression the most open he’s ever seen it.

“Yeah.” Stiles lets himself sink against Derek again, cautious, but pushing forwards when Derek doesn’t make him move. “You?”

“I am.” Derek exhales, loud in the quiet of the room. Stiles is lifted with the rise and fall of his chest under his cheek. “Let me take you out for breakfast.”

Hope flares bright and brilliant in him, but it’s followed by the bitter sting of past mistakes where he’s hoped too much before only to be let down badly.

“You want to take me on a date.” He clarifies.

He can’t be certain but it looks like Derek’s cheeks pink. He meets Stiles gaze, vulnerable in the early hour.

“If you wanted.”

He grins.

“Yeah, I want.” A yawn escapes him, catching him by surprise. “But not for another four hours at least.”

He can feel Derek’s chuckle, cut off by a jaw cracking yawn. Derek’s arms come up around him, holding him close. Somehow, despite the adrenaline and happiness surging through his veins he manages to fall back asleep.


End file.
